Scars
by Jem Kallop
Summary: Bakura has been dating Marik for a few months, but he has still never managed to get Marik to take his shirt off. He isn't going to stand for that much longer, as Bakura is determined to uncover the secret of Marik's back. Fluffy thiefshipping oneshot. Happy birthday, X . Vivace!


**Here is a fluffy thiefshipping oneshot for the wonderful X . Vivace's birthday! I really hope she likes it. XD There is a lot of fluff and not much plot, but it was a lot of fun to write and hopefully will be enjoyable for you all to read, as well!**

**Warnings: There is a small amount of nudity, but no smut. Lots of fluff!**

**Disclaimer: Yu-Gi-Oh is not owned by me. It and its characters belong to Kazuki Takahashi. XD**

**Enjoy! – Jem**

Bakura awoke slowly, his eyes remaining closed as his brain swam out of the deepest reaches of sleep. That in itself was unusual; up until recently, Bakura had only slept lightly, never allowing himself to get truly lost in dreams and darkness. It was one of the many drastic changes his life had made recently.

Another was the absence of space in his bed.

There was a muffled groan from the other side of the bed and the sheets rustled, revealing one brown arm that curved gracefully across the pillow. Blond hair splayed across the pillow as violet eyes blinked open sleepily. Marik smiled. "G'morning."

"Morning?" Bakura rolled his eyes exaggeratedly, pointedly eyeing the clock on the bedside table. "You're a few hours out."

Sleepy violet eyes widened a little before sliding closed as Marik yawned, stretching. His sleep shirt lifted, riding up over brown skin before he settled back down again and curled closer to Bakura. "R-really? What time is it?"

"Gone midday," Bakura growled. He reached over and pulled Marik to him, cradling him against his chest with a grumpy sigh. "Why is it the nights you stay over always lead to late mornings?"

Marik chuckled lowly, wrapping his arms around Bakura. "Because you know you can't resist me." He snuggled closer, nestling into Bakura's thin frame easily. The air around them was warm and comforting; were he with anyone else, Bakura would call it cloying. But Marik was warm against his side, their bare legs tangled together under the sheets, breath mingling, and Bakura found it almost impossible to remain disgruntled.

"Mmph, what are we doing today?" Marik mumbled, his lips against Bakura's neck.

Bakura glanced down at the man in his arms with a small smile tugging at his lips. However, he kept his voice gruff, ensuring to allow some annoyance to leak into his tone, knowing that he couldn't allow Marik to realise what a hold he had over Bakura. "Staying in bed, apparently, if you have your way."

Marik snickered softly. He purposely rolled Bakura onto his back and collapsed on top of his chest, running his hands over Bakura's bare skin with a small, contented sigh. "Well, if you're offering..."

"I do no such thing," Bakura growled, poking Marik deliberately in the side. He rolled his eyes when he got no response, pulling at the ends of blond hair as he turned Marik's face up to him. Marik's eyes were closed, his breathing even. Bakura frowned, prodding him again. "Ishtar?"

Marik's only response was to shift a little in his sleep.

Bakura sighed loudly. He shifted around under Marik's heavy body, attempting to lie more comfortably against the sheets whilst he was effectively trapped on the bed. Marik looked incredibly endearing when he slept. His blond hair dribbled down his face, hanging over his closed lids and peaceful features, his brown skin glowing softly in the dim sunlight that struggled through the blinds. His shirt clung to his body, bare legs hidden under the covers, effectively hiding his skin from Bakura's sight. Not that this was unusual. No matter how many times Marik stayed over, Bakura had never convinced him to take his shirt off.

As Bakura looked down at Marik's sleeping form, he felt curiousity begin to stir anew in his veins. It wasn't as if Marik was shy or self-conscious – in fact, he took great delight in flaunting his body before Bakura – but when it came to intimacy, Marik refused point-blank to go bare chested before Bakura. It didn't particularly bother Bakura, but it certainly aroused his curiousity. And with Marik asleep, as he was now...

Bakura lifted one careful hand, at first brushing the hair back from Marik's forehead. He pressed a gentle kiss to Marik's forehead, stroking through his tangled golden locks, before running his fingers lightly down Marik's back, skimming the hem of his shirt. Carefully, he curled his fingers around the sweaty material, lifting his other arm to play with Marik's hair again as he slowly, slowly, began to pull the shirt up...

"Hmm...?" Marik wriggled, waking instantly when he felt hands brush his lower back. His eyes flew open and, with a startled yelp, he scurried off Bakura and slapped his pale hands away. "Get off!"

Bakura blinked. He growled a little, forcing himself up onto his elbows as he watched Marik roll off him, burying his head in the pillow until only a mess of blond poked up from the mattress. Bakura was getting tired of this. Every time he got close, Marik would freak out or scream at him or, on one particularly memorable occasion, burst into tears and flee the room. It had taken Bakura hours to calm him down enough to even speak, and Marik had made him promise never to try and take his shirt off again. It irritated Bakura, but he hadn't had much of a choice.

"For God's sake, Marik," Bakura growled, propping himself up on one elbow so he could glare at the stubborn Egyptian lying beside him. "What are you freaking out about?"

A muffled growl rumbled through the sheets as the mess of blond turned. Furious violet eyes glared out at Bakura. "You should know!"

"No, I bloody don't." Bakura grunted, lifting a hand to once more pull at the hem of Marik's shirt. Marik hissed and spat, arching away from the offending touch with a dangerous growl. He sat straight upright in bed and backed away from Bakura, brows lowered and fists clenched as he eyed the pale man with a snarl. Bakura snorted. "Don't you look like that."

Marik's brows lowered further into a deep, unattractive glower.

"Oh, come _on_," Bakura scoffed. He sat back against the headboard, looking Marik straight in the eyes. "We've been dating for months. You've stayed the night every weekend for most of that period, and you've seen me naked countless times. What the hell are you hiding from me?"

"None of your business," Marik responded immediately. His voice sounded cracked and strained, his shoulders tense and fists clenched. Everything about him bespoke tension.

Bakura sighed loudly, rubbing his face with his hands. "Marik, it isn't even that important. I would just like to see your chest at least once."

"You want to see my chest?" Marik still sounded a little frosty, but he surprised Bakura by leaping back to the pillows. Marik flopped onto his back, glaring at Bakura the whole time as he curled his hands around the hem of his shirt and pulled it up, revealing a flash of brown skin before he pulled it down again. "There. My chest."

Bakura arched a brow, faintly amused in a strange way. He flipped over on top of Marik and straddled his hips, ignoring Marik's startled yelp, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Well, it was nice, but you didn't really let me explore." His fingers went back to Marik's shirt, pulling it up again, and this time, Marik didn't complain, even arching his back to aid Bakura.

However, when the fabric reached his shoulders, Marik grabbed Bakura's wrists and glared. "That's far enough."

"Fine, prissy princess." Bakura rolled his eyes but obediently released the material, instead turning his attention to the newly revealed skin. He ran his palms gently across Marik's chest, marvelling inwardly at the silky smoothness of his skin, enjoying how it felt under his features. He smirked even wider when he felt Marik shift, his violet eyes closing in pleasure. Deciding to brave a little more, Bakura moved his fingers to Marik's sides, beginning to dip around to his back.

Marik instantly slapped away his wrists. "Enough." The word cracked through the air, fissures flying past Bakura's ears as he gazed a little blearily down at Marik.

Angry violet eyes glared back.

Bakura scoffed. "What, your chest is fine but I can't see your back?"

Marik's brows lowered further and he snarled, fingers tightening around Bakura's wrists as he kept his hands far away from his skin. They glared at each other for another long moment before Bakura gave in, throwing his hands up in defeat.

"You," Bakura stated, climbing off Marik to fall back against the bed, "Have problems."

"Don't I know it," Marik muttered sullenly. He pulled his shirt back down before rolling again, but, to Bakura's surprise, it was to face in the opposite direction.

Bakura blinked, staring at Marik's now-clothed back. "Ishtar? God, I haven't actually upset you, have I?"

"No." Marik's tone said otherwise.

Bakura growled low in his throat, moving to lie right behind Marik. He wound his arms around Marik's stiff form, nuzzling into the back of his head with a low sigh as he shifted a little closer, moulding to Marik's familiar body.

To his surprise, Marik moved irritably out of his hold. "I've got to meet my siblings." Without another word, Marik got to his feet, leaving Bakura alone on the bed as he scooped up his clothes and made for the door.

Bakura rolled his eyes. There was no point in attempting to deal with Marik in this mood, so he let the Egyptian leave, only calling after him, "Be back here for seven. I'm cooking."

A grunt was all he got in response before Marik left the room.

Bakura sighed loudly and collapsed back on the bed, his head crashing against the suddenly empty pillows. It wasn't unusual for Marik to storm out of here after Bakura wound him up about one thing or another, but these moods had got increasingly less frequent as Marik grew more comfortable around him. Bakura still didn't know much about his Egyptian partner, though. Marik was guarded and troubled, obviously hiding much of his life from Bakura, although he seemed happy with the pale man when they were together. Bakura had been entirely open with Marik; sometimes, he wished that Marik would bestow the same trust upon him.

"He isn't keeping me waiting any longer," Bakura growled to himself. "I'm getting his shirt off tonight, no matter what he does to try and stop me."

...

At five to seven the food was in the oven and Bakura was sprawled out on the sofa, TV on some game show or other. He wasn't really watching it, however, instead focusing on his plan for the evening; he had absolutely no intention of allowing Marik to escape his web today.

A key soon turned in the lock – Bakura had given Marik one two months into their relationship – and the door swung open, revealing a very wet and cold Egyptian. Marik shut the door quickly behind him, dropping his bag in the hall before tearing into the living room with chattering teeth. "Why is this damn country so cold?"

Bakura glanced over with a smirk at his lips. "It's better than burning to death in Egypt."

"You wouldn't _burn to death_," Marik complained, his lips pursing as he collapsed on the couch beside Bakura. He burrowed his way under Bakura's arm, shivering. "You'd turn pleasantly brown, a much normal colour. And we'd actually be able to leave the house without getting caught in a damn tornado."

"You're exaggerating," Bakura growled. He did, however, wrap his arm a little tighter around Marik's shoulders, bringing him into his warm chest and rubbing affectionately. Marik hid a smile as he nuzzled against Bakura's neck. Bakura sighed again, his lips tickling Marik's ear as he held the Egyptian close.

Marik hummed contentedly. "Didn't you promise me dinner?"

"After you stormed out of the flat this morning?" A dark chuckle slid out of Bakura's mouth as he turned with a quirk of the lips to look down at the man cradled against his shoulder. "You're lucky I even let you through the door."

"You didn't; I forced my way in." Marik sniffed.

Bakura smirked. "With the key that I gave you?"

"Shut up." Marik headbutted him lightly before going back to resting against his shoulder. He stretched with a yawn. "Seriously, though, I'm hungry. Feed me."

Bakura rolled his eyes but obediently got to his feet, extending a hand for Marik to take. "Your wish is my command," he responded sarcastically.

"You know it is." Marik grinned widely, linking fingers with Bakura as they wandered through into the kitchen. Bakura set Marik down in his usual seat, giving his forehead a quick kiss before turning to the oven and pulling out the plates. He set one in front of Marik, handing him the cutlery with a small florid bow. Marik grinned up at him. "You'd do well as a waiter."

"In your dreams," Bakura responded wryly, taking his own seat and giving Marik a kick under the table.

Marik laughed over at him with dancing violet eyes. "Well, maybe if I get lucky one day." He winked before turning back to his meal, tucking in with a great deal of enthusiasm. Bakura found his eyes often straying to Marik as they ate; something about the blond Egyptian was just inherently endearing, and far too cute to resist. As always, Bakura found himself being drawn into Marik's web, and he knew that by now he was too far in to escape.

But Marik had his secrets, and Bakura was determined to discover them all.

It was with casual nonchalance that, at the end of the meal, Bakura knocked his fork off the table. It rolled perfectly towards Marik, resting on the floor under his chair, winking innocently in the dim lights.

"Get that, Marik, will you?" Bakura didn't even miss a beat.

Marik sent a stubborn glare over the table. "Get it yourself."

"It's right by your feet." Bakura sent an even stare back, refusing to back down until Marik rolled his eyes, admitting defeat. With a low hiss, he put down his own cutlery and pushed his chair back from the table, bending over the side to scoop up the dropped fork. Bakura watched him carefully, pleased when his plan worked. As Marik bent over, his shirt rode up his back, revealing more brown skin that Bakura expected. But ... what was that...

Just peeping out from under Marik's top was a hint of dark scarring.

In a flash of flurried movements, Bakura was across the table, one palm firmly on Marik's back to keep him down. Marik gave a startled yelp, attempting to stand, but Bakura had enough time to rip the hem of Marik's shirt up again, revealing an intricate pattern of scars for the fleetest, briefest of seconds before Marik successfully got away.

Fleeing across the kitchen, Marik's fingers were on the hem of his black shirt, securely pulling it down as he span to glare angrily at Bakura. "What the hell are you doing?!" He spit furiously, eyes narrowed and flashing.

Bakura was breathing heavily as he gazed at Marik, features schooled neutrally to hide his amazement and shock. He couldn't get his head around what he had seen on Marik's back. There had definitely been scars, intricately spaced and etched into Marik's brown skin. The tissue had looked old, but they must have still been incredibly painful.

Marik could tell that Bakura had seen too much. He could see it in the set of Bakura's shoulders, the tension in his jaw, the tendons in his wrists as his fists clenched. Marik's secret was out.

Bakura broke the tense silence, his voice surprisingly calm. "What are they?"

"None of your damn business," Marik snarled. His whole body was curled in, stance defensive.

Bakura ignored his words, taking two steps nearer and backing Marik into the counter. "Don't bullshit me. What are those scars on your back?"

Marik flinched, backing up as far as he could until his back met the counter. He snarled and stiffened instantly as Bakura continued to approach him, panic widening his eyes. He couldn't deal with this.

Bakura could see that Marik was going to run the instant before he did, so he was prepared. He had expected such a reaction. Marik rushed straight for the door, darting around Bakura, but the pale man swung long arms around his waist and brought Marik back, spinning him back around into the kitchen. Marik fought him every step of the way, cursing Bakura's deceptive strength as he struggled in his arms.

"You do not get away that easily," Bakura panted, holding Marik firmly against his chest.

Marik snarled. "Get the hell off me!"

"You're not leaving here without explaining." Resorting to desperate measures, Bakura turned and lifted Marik into the kitchen, ignoring his griping and complaining. He threw Marik down onto the sofa and clambered on top of him, grabbing his wrists and holding him firmly. Bakura fixed Marik with a glare. "Explain."

Marik glowered up at him. "Let me go."

"No." Bakura refused to release Marik, holding him firmly. "You can't just ignore me."

"I'll do whatever the hell I like," Marik muttered bitterly, his eyes sliding closed. He looked genuinely pained, an expression that tore Bakura's chest, so he relented a little. Not enough to release Marik, of course; Bakura was determined to get an answer.

With a low sigh, Bakura sat back, allowing Marik to sit up. He watched Marik with stern brown eyes, however, although his features remained calm, as did his tone. "You know I'm not letting you leave without explaining."

Marik squeezed his eyes shut. His head dropped, his voice small. "Do I really have to?"

"Yes." Bakura hardened his heart to Marik's broken form. "I want to help you, you fool."

Marik bit down hard on his lip. He wriggled uncomfortably, deliberately avoiding Bakura's stern gaze. When he spoke, his voice cracked. "I ... don't want to share this. I hate them."

"But what are they?" Bakura leaned forwards with interest, although his eyes burned with anger. "They looked like scars."

Marik winced. "They are. They ... they were..." Marik's eyes slid shut as he stuttered, blinking furiously. He shook his head, making to stand up. "I can't do this, I can't talk about them..."

"Alright, so don't." Bakura placed his hands on Marik's shoulders, rubbing soothingly as he met his eyes. "Show me instead."

Marik shook his head more violently. "I can't! Their horrible..."

"Nothing about you is horrible," Bakura growled. "Now will you just turn around and let me help you."

Marik froze. His eyes were wide and glazed with fear.

Bakura groaned softly, dropping his head down on top of Marik's. "Marik, for God's sake, I just want to help you. Why can't you trust me enough to show me this?"

"I do trust you." Marik's voice was still quiet, but his eyes were wide as he gazed down at Bakura. Carefully, he wrapped his arms tightly about Bakura's shoulders, cradling him, lips close to his ear. "I do trust you, Bakura, but this is horrible."

Bakura shifted a little, pressing his lips to Marik's neck. He kissed once. "Show me."

"...Alright." Marik's voice shook.

Bakura sat back, watching with a keen gaze as Marik drew in a shaky breath. His brown hands trembled as he brought them to the hem of his shirt, visibly shaking against the sofa cushions. He squeezed his eyes shut, lifting the shirt half-way up his chest before he dropped it down again. He tried once more, getting to his shoulders this time, but again, the fabric slipped from his fingers. Marik's head dropped. "I can't do this."

"Yes, you can." With uncharacteristically gentle movements, Bakura extended his hands and lightly grasped the hem of Marik's shirt, beginning to lift it up. "Let me help you."

Marik shivered, eyes widening with fear, but he swallowed and nodded once, allowing Bakura to continue. The shirt lifted up gradually, reaching Marik's shoulders until Bakura pulled it gently over his head.

Marik breathed heavily, squirming under Bakura's gaze. Bakura dropped the shirt onto the floor before he crawled forwards, meeting Marik's frightened eyes with a calm, steadfast gaze. "Turn around."

Bakura went to lay his hands on Marik's shoulders but Marik slapped them away, taking another deep breath. "No, don't touch me. I'll show you."

Bakura nodded, moving carefully backwards.

Marik swallowed, opened his mouth a few times, snapped his jaw shut, and turned.

Bakura ran his eyes slowly down the incredible ravaged canvas that was Marik's back. The scars were perfect in their painful precision, etched into Marik's skin with obvious detail, and no mind to the pain of the person they were pressed onto. Bakura felt anger flare through him at the torment Marik must have undergone, but he controlled it, knowing that he had to handle this situation with care if he was going to keep Marik with him.

Without speaking, almost without thinking, Bakura closed the gap between them and lightly traced the first scar, an elegant wing pattern that flared across Marik's shoulders. He could feel Marik tense under his touch, shivering. With a low sigh, Bakura moved closer, lips brushing the back of Marik's head. "Who did this?" His voice was quietly angry.

"It ... doesn't matter." Marik's voice was quiet and broken. "He's dead. The man who did it."

Bakura blinked once before sighing. He continued tracing the patterns on Marik's back, moving tenderly and gently, but he could feel how tense Marik was so Bakura released him soon enough. Bakura wrapped secure arms around Marik's shoulders and pulled him backwards, pressing kisses to the top of his head as he cradled him against his chest. "Good. Because if he wasn't, I'd be on my way to murder him right now."

Marik's eyes slid shut. He sagged a little. "So this ... doesn't change anything?"

Bakura snorted softly. He ran gentle fingers around Marik's torso, stroking his chest as he kissed the top of Bakura's head. "It changes everything."

Marik stiffened. "What?"

"Calm down." Bakura's lips teased Marik's earlobe as he chuckled softly. He breathed the next words straight into Marik's ear. "It just makes me love you more."

Marik stopped in shock, eyes wide, before he snuggled back into Bakura's chest. His scars were protected by the cloth of Bakura's shirt, warm arms tightly around him, and Marik knew he was secure here.

Fear would hold him back no longer.

**Corny ending FTW. XD I think Bakura is quite out of character in this, for which I apologise. Still, I hope you all enjoyed this little piece of fluff. ^_^ Happy birthday, X . Vivace! Have a wonderful day! - Jem**


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